


Voices

by Chusi



Category: Buzz (Korea Band), Super Junior, 아는 형님 | Knowing Bros | Ask Us Anything
Genre: Based on, But this couple cute af, Heechul hears voices, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Not Much Romance, Slash, Spring Days of Our Life, The Kings, a little fluff i guess, and is really paranoid, by Kim Heechul and Kim Jungmo, im sorry if it’s bad, slight schizophrenia, this is also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chusi/pseuds/Chusi
Summary: When Heechul’s down, Kyunghoon is always there for him.OrWhen a pink hair clip is enticing





	Voices

**Author's Note:**

> What I was listening to when I wrote this: Sorry by The Rose
> 
> This little piece was based off of Heechul’s performance of Spring Days of My Life with Kim Jungmo, something I really enjoy (okay you guys should watch it it’s amazing). I haven’t decided whether I’m continuing this or not, so it’s going to be a bit ambiguous for now.  
> Interesting fact, this story had changed completely from the original, and for some reason I decided to feature Heechul having Schizophrenia and a pretty bad case of paranoia, and if I have any details wrong (as I myself am luckily not afflicted), then feel free to point them out and I’ll fix them immediately!   
> Oh, and this story is obviously not beta’d, so sorry for any mistakes in it.

His fingers wrapped around the microphone, alternating between a white-knuckled grip and a loose, slack-fingered hold with the danger of dropping the mic. His routine squeezing caused his fingers to ache. 

“Heechul-ssi, what are you wearing?”

Heechul glanced down at himself, raising a manicured eyebrow at the fussing makeup artist. 

“Well, what I was put in.”

The black outfit, not complete without chains and thigh-high leather boots, clung to his body. True, it wasn’t what he was used to wearing, but he could’ve sworn black and blue at himself in the mirror that it damn suited him. However, with that thrice accursed choker adorning his neck, he ran the risk of impaling himself on one of the spikes if he tilted his head far enough, so it was plausible to believe that he had missed something. 

“No, that thing on your head!” she snapped at him, holding her tongue to stop her worries spilling out. They had mere minutes before Heechul was expected on stage and if something needed fixing - well, it wasn’t worth thinking of.

“Oh, you mean this?” he spoke airily, “Just a little addition, something more… me.”

“Heechul-ssi - “

The last notes died from the speaker hovering above their heads. It was his turn on stage. The makeup artist glared at him, promising retribution when she next saw him. He grinned at her, tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear before he strode out onto the awaiting stage.

—————......—————

Heechul swung the bag onto his shoulder, having already said his goodbyes to the few staff left clearing up.The concert had been a huge hit, particularly after Bae Gi Seong had burst onto the stage. 

He swept out into the bitterly cold night, eyes adjusting to artificial lights flickering in the car park. Wrapping his overcoat tighter around himself, he watched as his breath condensed into a heavy cloud in front of him.

It had been a vicious shoot, one that was likely to leave him strung out for the next few days. But with both the publicity and the enjoyment he himself received from it, it was more than worth it. He’d also taken the opportunity to catch up with Jungmo after what felt like a long time.

Shuffling into his car, he flicked the headlights on and caught a glance of himself in the rear-view mirror. He looked a mess, a hot one at that. His eyeshadow was smudged, and his hair in a more mussed up state than the polished do had been earlier. And that wasn’t to mention the accessory that had the stylist in such a hissy fit. 

The fluffy pink hair pin was still fastened to his hair, a shock against the outfit he was wearing. A self-satisfied smirk rose onto his face, please with himself at being able to sneak it, however lacking he was in subtlety, into the outfit. Flicking the lights off after a final glance, he put the car in reverse and swung his car out of the parking lot.

It was time to go home. 

—————......—————

His numb, fumbling fingers shoved the key roughly into the lock. Shoving the door open, he stamped on the rug, welcoming the warm air brushing his skin. A shiver tickled his spine. Heechul brushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers glimpsing a touch of the pink furry clip in his hair. A small smile lit up his face as his hand rested there a second longer.

He shut the door behind him and kicked his shoes off. Heechul dragged his bags into the living room, glancing around cursively. There was nothing to see, but he was a paranoid person. 

The idol ignored the slight tremble in his previously numb hands. There was nothing there and he was being stupid, stupid, stupid. It was just like Kyunghoon said; they weren’t real, they didn’t exist.

But even if he couldn’t hear anything, that didn’t mean they weren’t here. He could see that shadow flickering in the corner, a faint whisper from a cranny, something there ready to jump out and -

“No,” he whispered, “he told me you were lying to me. That you’re not real, never were.”

He’s lying.

He shook his head violently, abandoning his bag and stumbling into the red kitchen to avoid the shadows and voices. He searched the counters for purchase, for a source of comfort. Cupboards were yanked open, glasses sent shattering to the floor in his desperation to just forget. Three cupboards through and seven glasses in pieces, he found and clasped a bottle to his side. 

Heechul sunk slowly to the floor, chest heaving and eyes haunted. Long, greedy gulps tore burningly down his throat, a welcome reminder of reality. They weren’t real, they couldn’t hurt him. They were just his imagination, Hoonie wouldn’t lie to him. He wouldn’t… would he?

Of course he would… look at you. Skin and bones, an ugly representation of who you used to be. No one would want you. Worthless. Useless.

His grip on the bottle tightened, head shaking rapidly as he furiously tried to ignore the voices. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t even try as Hoonie asked. Heechul couldn’t be strong. Not for himself and not for anybody else.

The bottle broke from the force. It joined the other glasses in shards on the floor, reflecting back at him like a twisted mirror. The idol glared at his hand, trickles of blood running from cuts where the glass had left gashes. The alcohol now covering him seeped into the wounds, stinging painfully.

Heechul hung his head. No wonder Hoonie - no, Kyunghoon, he shouldn’t dirty his nickname with his filthy self - was probably disgusted with him. Just look at him; the voices were right.

Just like always.

—————......—————

Cool water splashed against his face, a gentle lapping brushing his skin. He swayed in the hold of the embrace. Currents played with his hair, twisting and twirling it around his face playfully. Heechul opened his mouth, breathing the water like it was air. Fluttering eyes opened slowly, a mass of blue swirling in front of them. 

He raised a hand, running his fingers through the water. It shifted through his open hands, swirling and eddying around him. A smile curved his lips. 

“Heechul…”

The murmurs reached his ears, whispering warmly. 

“Heechul?”

But they were insistent. It wasn’t just a loving nickname anymore, but a question. A worried one.

“Heechul. Please.”

They sounded so sad, so utterly heartbroken. He couldn’t handle the pain laced in the words, each sentence digging at his conscience.

“For me?”

And even if there was nothing else in the world, he’d give himself up to save the voice.

The waves hardened around him, knocking incessantly onto him. They dragged at his shoulder with the force of a tsunami, ripping him from the water’s cool embrace, back into the harsh, heated reality and into -

“There we go,” the whispers decreased, just a single person murmuring softly to him.

He shifted sleepily. Heechul dragged his eyes open, still heavy from the grips of Morpheus, and gazed straight up. A face hovered above his, the most likely owner to the arms encircling him. A smile unfurled on his lips.

“Hoonie,” he croaked, voice disused from sleep.

“What are you doing here on the floor again, Chul-ah? Did it happen again?”

“That’s Heechul hyung to you,” he grumbled burying deeper into Kyunghoon’s warmth, “and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hyung, you told me it ended. You promised me you’d call if it happened again; why didn’t you call?”

Heechul felt like he could slap himself. Not only had he lapsed and let Kyunghoon see him in this state - again - but the younger was once again worrying over him, when he should be bothered with more important things.

“Hoonie,” Heechul cringed and shrank from the youngest touch, remembering his promise yesterday not to say that nickname, “It was nothing. I’m fine, I promise. You must be busy, yes? You don’t need to bother with me.” 

He struggled out of the now constricting arms, dragging a hand through his hair. Heechul averted his eyes from the bloody, injured limb (hoping that Kyunghoon wouldn’t notice), only pausing when he felt the hair clip still in his hair. He shut his eyes, shaking his head softly.

“Hyung!”

He’d hoped a bit too soon, it appeared.

“Hyung, your hands,” the worried younger man gasped, gingerly reaching out to hold them. Whether it was in disgust or fear of hurting Heechul more, he couldn’t discern.

It was probably the former.

“It’s nothing,” Heechul shoved the outstretched arms away forcefully, stumbling upright. He winced as he grabbed a counter and stared at the smears of red he left behind, “It’s nothing, how many times do I have to bloody say it? For Gods sake, I’m fine!” 

Kyunghoon recoiled from the furious man. He opened his mouth to speak, not prepared to be brushed past roughly. The singer stared hopelessly after him, split between helping him no matter what he said and leaving Heechul be, as he wished. Kyunghoon stared at his hands, comparing the pale and smooth skin to Heechuls jagged war field. 

No, he couldn’t leave him alone in that state.

Approaching the shut bathroom door, he rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood. Ignoring the protests of the elder, he stepped in, thankful for once of the lack of a lock on the door. The man had his back to Kyunghoon, his stained hands clutching painfully onto the white sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Kyunghoon stepped forward quietly and once more let his arms slip around Heechul’s waist, laying his head softly on the others shoulder.

“I don’t care what happened, Chullie Hyung,” he whispered into his ear, “I just care that you’re safe and happy.”

Kyunghoon felt Heechul’s body shake, leaning heavily into him. He hugged him tighter, bringing the other closer. A few wet patches darkened his sleeves but he was more than willing to ignore them.

In the absence of the chatter Heechul usually filled the room with, he reached in front of the man to turn the water on. 

“Will you let me help clean your hands?”

“Please,” was the croaked answer.

—————......—————

“I have to say, I’m a big fan of the pink hairpin,” Kyunghoon commented idly, glancing down at Heechul.

The latter stretched further out on the sofa, sprawled across Kyunghoon’s lap. He was vaguely reminiscent of a cat and the eyeliner he currently wore didn’t help him; but then again, neither did the way he pushed against Kyunghoon’s hand as it ran through his hair, either.

However, the groan he let out when lips pressed against him rather hungrily most decidedly did.

“You know what, I think I am too,” he smirked up from behind his lashes, plump lips red and swollen from being bitten.


End file.
